All Clear
by Switchblade27
Summary: Will Freddy Lounds' dedication be her demise? M for violence and sexual themes.
1. Chapter One: Will

Leather straps were pressing into the side of my skull, drawing it tighter, the metal bars before my face melding together until there was no air left to breathe. And my eyes began to open and the harness became fingers.

I tried to say something, I tried to ask him why, why he was doing this to me, but I could hardly breathe, let alone speak. So this is the end, I thought. Death at the hand of my lover. Surprisingly dull, considering my vibrant history of near death experiences. I could feel my face grow dark, the blood furiously racing to my head.

I did not expect release, yet it came, like the numbness after a shot to the jaw. The first second of freedom after several of bondage was exhilarating. I shot up out of bed, tearing the sweat soaked sheets from my body, standing before him exposed, yet unafraid. I looked down at him accusingly, but my mind was pleading with him and I knew he could feel me wishing I understood why he had nearly killed me.

"Hello?"

A female voice, haughty in tone, but tainted with a touch of naivety and fear that would remain undetected by most and appreciated by a select few. The naivety had always been there, but the fear was new, and the fear was good. She was afraid of what she'd find.

"Hide." That was the voice of the man who had nearly killed me just moments ago, but now I understood why, and I darted into the bathroom and pressed myself flat against the floor of the tub.

"I can call the police. You just broke into my home," he stated calmly.

"I don't think you're going to do that." I felt the impact of her sitting down in the bed beside him. I winced. Be decent and stand up, I thought to myself. Porcelain was not a welcome feeling after a night being entirely consumed by the warmth of a human touch,

"Who is Will Graham to you?" God, that was blunt. I could feel the tension radiate out from the bedroom, settling like dust on my skin.

"He is my colleague." I couldn't help but smile at that. I must be one hell of a colleague.

"Keep it that way," she hissed. Then slowly, drawn out, emphasis on her eerie last word. "I'll be watching."

I heard the door slam, and scrambled to my feet, diving back into bed and laying my head on the doctor's chest.

"William," he started. I hushed him, stroking the side of his face with the knuckle of my index finger.

"Thank you," I whispered up to him. "If you hadn't quieted me, I can't even imagine..."

"William."

"I just had a nightmare, I was in prison, and I had a mask on my face, and then your hand. I thought you wanted to-"

"William." His tone was much more direct, stern and commanding. "If Miss Lounds had seen you, your entire career would be ruined." His face was calm, but his eyes were glassy and distant. "Maybe we should-"

"Stop," I interrupted. "You're worth more than that to me. We just have to be more careful. From now on, we don't let anyone know that I'm with you outside of work. But you still have to cook."

"Of course. I can't imagine eating whatever you consider food." He smiled that smile he always smiled, like he knew something I didn't.

"You should teach me how to cook," I said, drumming my fingers against his shoulder. "I'm dying to know your secret."

"Then it wouldn't be a secret," he said smugly. "Get dressed. Something just occurred to me."

His voice had resumed it's serious tone, so I pulled on a pair of pants and followed him. He quickened his step as he entered the kitchen, looking at the ceiling, pacing like an anxious cat. The first one he spotted was above the refrigerator.

"I'd suggest you return home, William," he pronounced, trying to hide the rage that consumed him. I nodded, returning to the bedroom for the rest of my clothes, and my phone. Before I left I managed to steal a defiant kiss from the angry man, which was returned in a passionately reluctant manner.

"No more cameras, then?" I asked cautiously. The flames hissed up at me and I jumped back.

"No, the house is all clear." Hannibal stepped silently behind me and rested his hand on my shoulder. Sliding his hand down my arm, he guided my own trembling fingers, which held the frying pan in a death grip. Like magic, the flames began to simmer down, and he smiled down at me.

"Sit," he offered. "Let me finish the rest."

The doctor was always protective of his cooking. Everything he did was done with the utmost care.

Sometimes he spoke aloud while he cooked, not to me in particular, and I loved to listen. He seemed like he felt secure with his cooking, like he could trust the food more than he trusted people. The look of satisfaction when he ate, like he and the food shared a dirty little secret. Not like food could tell secrets.

A soft, delicate kiss upon my head brought me back from the landscape of my thoughts.

"Eat," he whispered gently. He placed a plate before me, some kind of meat flambéed with brandy. Presented perfectly, as usual, a sprig of some herb or other on the side. Hannibal sat down with a pleased look on his face, but as soon as he looked up at me, the smug grin disappeared.

"You are worried," he began, his intonation dripping with knowledge. "You are wondering whether or not I am worth more than your work." Calm as ever, he sliced off an edge of the meat and slipped it into his mouth, teeth clamping down like a bear trap.

My face flushed a feminine shade of pink, and I inhaled slowly, closing my eyes.

"You are worth more than anything to me." Eyes still closed, I could picture him sigh. He obviously didn't want to be responsible for my downfall. And I certainly returned the sentiment, though our attachment could hardly affect his work. "No matter what Freddy Lounds does, no matter where she hides her stupid-" I slammed my fist down on the table, shaking the silverware. "-stupid cameras."

"If you want to stop seeing me, I understand."

"Of course I don't want to! D-do you want to?" I stuttered anxiously.

"It would kill me." At that, I fell silent. Unwavering, he proceeded to uncork a bottle of wine. Pouring himself a glass, and then one for me, he looked at me with an expression of almost pity. That was a new look.

"Drink." He pushed the glass towards me and I peered down at it, seeing my reflection in the red liquid as I had seen it more times than was healthy. Slowly, I put the glass to my lips and let the wine delicately brush past my lips. Memories were flooding back like tidal waves, and the presence of the red wine sickened me to the point of nausea.

"I should get some sleep," I said, rising to my feet abruptly.

"William," Hannibal called after me. I turned to face him. "You see more than I like to give you credit for."


	2. Chapter Two: Hannibal

Cold was better than numbness, but the cold hadn't exactly been comforting. With a slight squeak, the flow of water stopped, and I stepped out, letting my feet sink into the plush carpet. Almost effortlessly, with the assistance of a much needed cotton towel, I was clothed in a pale yellow shirt and brown slacks in seconds. Choosing a jacket was easy, I went for the dark brown and ruddy orange checkered camelhair, a favorite of mine. My tie however, was one reserved for special occasions, a red silk pashmina blend. Although an unconventional material for a tie, the unorthodox combination gave it the quality of flowing water, or as I on one of my whims fancied, dripping blood.

Upon checking my cell phone, I found I had received thirteen messages from Will. All inquires concerning today's agenda, as I had predicted. Today I would be giving my thoughts on the nature of Mr. Hobbs' copycat, and Will was anxious that something would go wrong. Although, if he had known the identity of this killer he would have had good reason to be anxious, but these reasons were unknown to him. As usual, his anxiety was based on a fear of the unknown, not solid facts. He would brush it off as something silly, shamelessly self shaming to make his encounters with anxiety less uncomfortable. A joke at his own expense, a sarcastic comment. I loved that about him, the way he fought back, toyed with the monsters that crept in the depths of his mind where even I dared not stray.

A pair of tan socks and my favorite brown wingtips and I was down the stairs, in the car, "coffee" in hand. I loved the coppery smell that wafted from the styrofoam cup. I didn't take cream in my coffee. Call me a hemophiliac, but the taste can not be matched.

I was at the academy in what seemed like seconds. My greeting was the sound of shoes clicking down tile hallways, and I was face to face with Alana Bloom.

"Dr. Bloom," I said with the warmest smile I could muster at this hour. Despite her neat appearance, there was something organic about the woman. Underneath all the synthetic fabric, there was a scent that was both rough and fragile at the same time. It reminded me of a birch tree, slender but sturdy, the smell of the delicate bark that peeled off in thin sheets. It was thick and musky, yet light and airy at the same time, the crunch of autumn leaves, bare feet in fertile soil.

"Where have you been?" I blinked, stunned by her snappiness.

"I'm an hour early," I replied cooly, glancing down at my watch and taking another sip of coffee.

She huffed, folding her arms. "You know how Will gets. Make sure he hasn't hung himself out of nervousness." She stormed off, as quickly as stilettos would allow.

After what seemed like hours navigating the labyrinth they called the academy, I found myself inside Will's office. Glancing quickly to either side, I acknowledged him with a brief kiss.

"Welcome to inside my head," he announced, gesturing towards the endless shelves and files. His desk was hardly recognizable, covered in piles and piles of folders and papers and everything in-between. The only thing that was relatively neat was the collection of red bull cans lined up on the ledge next to the small, prison-like window. I knew he spent long nights here and I recognized the imprint of his head on the piles of paper.

His scent was everywhere, it was dirty, like sweat, hair wax, 48 hour gaming marathons in unfinished basements. In a way he even smelled homely, like the country, like maple and sawdust and pollen. I also detected some synthetic vanilla, and found it radiating from a plug in air freshener, that did nothing to hide the overwhelming musk.

As I took in the atmosphere of his office, he leaned his head against my arm. He had been wearing the cologne I bought him on our second official date. I couldn't help but smile, savoring the airy redolence that was the perfect contrast to his natural odor.

"Do you have something prepared? Notes? Anything?" Will looked up at me, chocolate eyes eager for an answer.

"No," I whispered, letting my eyes wander towards a small bird flitting about outside his lonely window. "I don't think I need any." Before Will could begin his panic, I wrapped a gentle arm around his shoulders.

"We should get to the lecture hall." Will's scratchy remark, delivered with an awkward, twitchy tilt of the head, made me jump after so many seconds of silence.

I nodded, and turned on my heel, holding the door for Will, then striding off through the empty hallway. I had already studied the layout of the building, so this time, I knew exactly where I was headed. Will followed, lips curled into a nervous pout, looking like one of the dogs he so cared for.

"Now I'll invite my friend and colleague, Dr. Lecter, to elaborate on the nature of the Minnesota Shrike's copycat."

I took the podium, shooting Will a brief wink. A hundred pairs of eyes met mine as I began my speech.

"The copycat killer, as you so refer to him," I began, for I did not like the name, "is not simply copying the Minnesota Shrike."

A flash of red caught my eye, and I ignored it, continuing calmly.

"The Minnesota Shrike valued his victims. When he killed them, he believed that he was honoring them by-" I paused, searching for the right words, "-consuming them. On the other hand, our copycat is in a sense mocking our investigation. His methods are not quick and humane, they are intended to make his victim feel pain. Using the antlers to-" I inhaled, savoring the word, "-impale his victim, was a reference to the actual Minnesota Shrike's passion for hunting: both humans and animals."

A camera flash, but I could not pinpoint where from.

"The Minnesota Shrike's copycat takes pleasure in the fact that he cannot be caught. He is precise, he is meticulous, he leaves no evidence. He is quite possibly, the most effective killer of our time."

I laughed silently. I was the most effective killer of our time. I was being modest.

"The art of the Minnesota Shrike's copycat is intended as a parody of this investigation, in its own twisted way."

"I think we have an admirer, William." I ran a hand through his dark curls and a deep purring sound escaped his lips. He smiled, embarrassed, and I reassured him with a deep, slow kiss. He rolled over towards me, nuzzling his head into the side of my neck. "Did you notice any new faces in the crowd?" Will shook his head, and walked his fingers towards my lips, laying a soft finger upon them to silence me.

My news would have to wait, though I did expect Will would want to know Miss Lounds had, in fact, kept an eye on us.


	3. Chapter Three: Freddy

"I've been expecting you, Miss Lounds." His voice was ringing with pretense and I could feel his secrets in the air.

"And I know you've been hiding something, Dr. Lecter," I replied calmly, distractedly admiring the red manicure that matched not only my outfit, but my curls.

"You have been observing me on my own property without my consent. That's not legal. That's harassment."

"Harassment, good journalism, it's all the same to me." I smiled coyly, and continued. "I honestly didn't think you'd catch on."

The good doctor had his eyes on my legs as I circled him slowly. When he caught on that I had noticed his ogling, he turned his gaze towards the floor, as if in submission.

"You're far too keen for any of my usual tricks," I laughed, sitting on the arm of the leather chair he occupied. " Then, leaning down, I whispered. "I might have to be more forward.

Dr. Lecter jerked his head back with obvious discomfort. "You have already overstepped the boundaries of professionalism. While I don't expect much from you, Miss Lounds, I do expect for you to respect my-" he paused, inching as far away as possible "-personal boundaries."

"You obviously don't understand what good journalism is, Dr. Lecter." I took a deep breath, and licked my lips. "The good journalist does whatever she must for her facts. Even if that requires getting dirty. All I want to know is what you have been doing with-or to-Will Graham."

He sighed, and I giggled in a manner perfectly appropriate for my schoolgirl plaid skirt.

"If there isn't anything, it shouldn't be that hard to tell me so. But we both know there is something."

"Do you expect me to just tell you?" he drawled.

"I'd really prefer if you showed me," I responded, almost serious.

He jolted out of his chair, towering over me. I stood up, staggered back, shaking. He had me against a bookcase and I was trapped.

But he was the one who was really trapped. Trapped, and confused like a scared animal. He was lashing out, and this was my chance.

"You want me to show you what I do to Will Graham," he growled, animalistic. I couldn't help but shiver. "I'll show you what I do to Will Graham."

In a flash, his mouth was all over mine, and his teeth were-biting down hard on my lips, they were biting OFF my lips.

An electric pain surged through my jaw, up through my skull and down through my neck and spine. I could feel myself expelling air through my throat, but no sound escaped the gaping hole where my lips had been.

Hannibal Lecter spat the bloody bits of flesh onto the floor, and grinned at me, teeth and mouth covered in the stuff that had moments ago been rushing to my head and cheeks when he grabbed the part of my waist that my skirt had hugged tightly.

"You are an excellent journalist, Miss Lounds," he said as I drifted out of consciousness.


End file.
